


fix me (in 45)

by fnowae



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Crack Fic, M/M, Magic, Patrick is a bird cause apparently I gotta make him a bird in Every Damn fic, Patrick is cursed, this one is gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-23
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-12-18 23:07:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11884764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fnowae/pseuds/fnowae
Summary: Patrick supposes being cursed to spend every night as a bird wouldn't be so hard if it wasn't so fucking difficult to fly.Or: Patrick is cursed and Joe just really likes to take care of injured animals - which, unfortunately, currently includes Patrick.





	fix me (in 45)

**Author's Note:**

> this title is the only thing I could think up for this it's 10 pm and I need to be up at 6 2mrw for camp leave me alone 
> 
> anyways. 
> 
> based off this prompt: _Person A is cursed to only be human at night, turning into a bird at sunrise each morning. This sucks because 1) they can't fly 2) they broke a wing trying to fly and 3) they've landed on the balcony of Person B, their very kindhearted crush who loves animals and wants to nurse A back to health, and A really doesn't want B to see them change back to their human form once night falls._
> 
> Kinda switched it around because. Fuck you. That's why. 
> 
> Another one from my blog (otpprompting shameless self promo)
> 
> enjoy

Patrick supposes being cursed to spend every night as a bird wouldn't be so hard if it wasn't so fucking difficult to fly. 

It's not like he's cursed to be a bird during the daytime - that would legitimately be difficult. Thankfully, he's perfectly human during the day, free to have a job and friends and to hang out with the cute guy in the apartment two floors below his. So, yeah, Patrick's daytime life is pretty great. And normal. 

Even at night, when the the sun sets and the curse is in full effect and he's forced to spend his time as a tiny chickadee, it's mostly fine. He mostly just sleeps at night anyways, and he doesn't really care if he's doing it as a person or as a small bird, as long as he's doing it. He cares very much about his sleep, thank you very much. 

The problem arises when he learns that what he thinks _would_ be the coolest part of this is a bust - he can't figure out how to fly. 

It shouldn't be hard - at least he thinks it shouldn't - but it turns out it really, really is. 

He tries to lift off his balcony one night, hoping some weird bird instincts will kick in, or some shit like that, and he'll magically have the ability, but apparently he's been handed the body without the muscle memory. Which kind of fucking sucks, by the way. No matter how he tries to go about it, whatever angle he goes at it from, whichever way he tries to flap his wings, he can't get more than a foot off the ground before he falls again. He gives up that night and settles for sleeping instead. 

The next day, he comes up with a new strategy - and because he comes up with it around noon, he has to wait a painful few hours until sunset to test it out. It's the first time since the curse began that he's actually been excited for nighttime. 

When the sun sets and the curse sets into motion, he's already on the balcony again, waiting apprehensively. It takes him a couple minutes to get up the deck chair and onto the balcony railing, considering he's unable to simply fly up to it. That's his whole problem, after all. 

Patrick's solution is based on this: he recalls hearing an informational tidbit about young birds learning to fly by being pushed out of the nest by their parents, therefore forcing them to figure it out quick before they die. 

So maybe it's not the safest idea. But fuck it, Patrick _really_ wants to fly. 

He hesitates one moment, considering that maybe he shouldn't do this, but he decides to just say "screw it" and go for it. And with that, he dives off the edge of his balcony without a second thought. 

Actually, the no second thoughts thing was a lie. 

On second thought, maybe this was a bad idea. 

Patrick isn't getting any sudden knowledge of how flying works, and now he's probably about to plummet to his untimely death. 

Well, shit. 

Luckily, a strong gust of wind hits just then, thrusting Patrick's tiny body backwards towards his apartment building again, and slamming him down hard on a balcony that he's fairly sure isn't his. It's not ideal, but at least he's not dead. 

He lands hard on one wing, and instantly a spiderweb of sharp pain throbs through it. Fuck. He's broken it, hasn't he? Judging by the fact that it's wracked by another sharp pain if he tries to move it, yes. Yes he has. 

Well, this is just great. He's lying, helpless, on a stranger's balcony with a broken wing - not like he could fly away even if it wasn't broken - and he'll be here until morning inevitably comes and leaves him human again, which will be kind of hard to explain to whoever the resident of this apartment is. This literally could not be a worse situation. 

Except, the universe seems to love proving Patrick wrong. 

The sliding door opens, and someone steps out. Patrick hears a voice cry out, "Oh, shit! Fucking hell, you're hurt!" And, oh no. 

This is not a stranger's balcony. 

Has Patrick mentioned the cute guy two floors below him? Yeah, Joe, the super sweet guy who Patrick likes to hang out with sometimes (by sometimes he means every moment he possibly can), the one who made Patrick a quart of the best tomato soup ever when he had a cold, the one who _makes a fucking habit of trying to nurse injured animals back to health_ , the one Patrick may or may not be a little bit totally in love with. 

And now Patrick is lying, debilitated, on his balcony, and guess what? _He's a fucking injured animal_.

Joe is down on his knees in seconds, scooping Patrick up into his hands and rushing our worriedly, "Oh, shit, what happened here? Your wing is broken, fuck. Right. I can fix this."

Patrick does _not_ want him to fix this. That is the last thing he wants. He wants Joe to put him somewhere quiet and isolated so when he turns back at sunrise no one will see, and especially so Joe won't see. 

Of course, he has no such luck. Instead, Joe straightens up again and heads inside, Patrick still held gently in his hand, then slides the door shut again behind him, murmuring as he does, "Hey, it's gonna be okay, little guy. I'll get that fixed up."

Patrick has watched Joe nurture plenty of injured animals - from a baby fox to a stray cat to even, yes, some small birds - and he's always found the way Joe talks softly to them cute and sweet. Now, though, it's just a constant reminder of his horrible predicament. 

Joe sets him lightly down on the table, muttering as he does, "I'm getting a towel so you'll have a little bed, hang on."

Patrick has no choice but to hang on. He writhes weakly on the cool wooden surface of the table for a little, trying pointlessly to escape, but he's too hurt for it to make much of a difference. He gives up after a few seconds to spare himself the pain. 

Joe returns quickly, a small fluffy blue towel clutched in his hands. He sets it down on the table, then carefully lifts Patrick up again and places him back down, onto the towel this time. Patrick has to admit it's a tiny bit comfortable - but only a tiny bit!

Joe leans down, poking cautiously at Patrick's broken wing and affirming aloud, "Yeah, that's definitely broken. Shit, you're not going to be flying anywhere anytime soon."

No shit. Patrick would very much like to inform Joe that he wasn't exactly flying anywhere in the first place, but, y'know, it's not like he can speak right now. Even if he could, though, he wouldn't. It would give away his identity to Joe. And he wants to avoid that as long as possible. 

It's becoming a scary possibility, though, that his identity being revealed is truly inevitable. 

"Guess you're staying with me for a while," Joe says softly, straightening up again and moving his hands off Patrick's wing. 

No, no, Patrick is absolutely _not_ staying with Joe for a while, he is getting out of here before sunrise, even if it's the last thing he ever does. And even if he doesn't manage that, he certainly won't be staying here after Joe finds out who really is. After that, he doubts he'll ever get to see Joe again at all. 

With escape seeming more and more out of reach, Patrick decides that his best bet is to just enjoy his last few hours of Joe speaking to him, even if they're under some rather weird circumstances. 

"Hey, you're probably hungry. Hang on." Joe is off before Patrick can quite process that, and he doesn't like it once he does. Joe is gonna bring him fucking bird food, he knows it. He's not touching that shit. He refuses. 

But instead, Joe returns with a chocolate muffin and breaks off a couple crumbs, holding them tentatively out to Patrick, speaking as he does, "I figured you'd like a treat. And besides, I'm gonna stay up all night to make sure you're okay. I need the sugar."

Yes, Patrick would very much like a treat. He's going to ignore the "staying up all night" bit for now. Rather than think about that too much, he simply pecks the crumbs out of Joe's hand. They're good, and Patrick's grateful for it. 

Joe chuckles as he removes his hand, now picked clean, and takes a bite out of his much larger portion of the muffin. "Alright, little buddy, I hope you like Star Wars. 'Cause we're watching some fucking Star Wars." 

Joe disappears briefly, reappearing with his laptop and setting it down in front of Patrick's resting place on the towel. He takes a seat at the table, turning on the computer and opening a folder. 

"These are illegally downloaded. But don't you go tell anybody," he whispers to Patrick, grinning. Patrick would laugh if he could. 

Joe starts up the first movie and sits back, letting it play. If Patrick was human right now, he'd have a very elaborate diatribe lined up about how horrid it is that the "first movie" Joe plays is the first _prequel_ , but alas, he is a bird. He has to settle for a few angry squawks, to which Joe answers unfortunately, "Ha, don't like it, do you? You remind me of this cute guy a couple floors up. He hates this movie too. His name's Patrick, and I kinda really like him. I should introduce you sometime, huh?"

Patrick would be celebrating Joe's confession if he wasn't so busy being a fucking bird - and if Joe even knew who he'd just confessed to. 

Joe focuses on the movie now - or at least, he does a good job of pretending to. Patrick knows that Joe's not actually paying attention to the movie all that much - alternatively, he is paying attention to Patrick. Patrick knows that Joe would do this for any injured animal he happened across, but he lets himself feel flattered anyway. 

They're almost through _Empire Strikes Back_ when Patrick notices it's getting light outside. Panic fills him once again, and he feels stupid for letting himself forget the situation. He has to get out - and _fast_. 

He tries making violent movements and loud, frantic noises, but all that succeeds in doing is worrying Joe again. 

Joe pauses the movie, leaning forward to look Patrick over carefully. 

"Hey, what's wrong?" he asks, concerned. He inspects Patrick's damaged wing again, as if he doesn't already know what's wrong with it, then looks the rest of Patrick over cautiously. "Aw, little guy, it's okay. Calm down."

Patrick is _not_ fucking calming down. 

He squirms even more desperately under Joe's fervent examination, trying to somehow communicate that Joe needs to get him out of this damn apartment, _now_. 

Of course that doesn't work. It simply makes Joe pick him up to look closer at him, his worry growing. 

And that is the absolute worst thing Joe could have done, because at that second, the sun clears the horizon. 

Suddenly, Joe's arms are full of _fully human_ Patrick, who is currently very grateful for the fact that the curse has the common courtesy to give his clothes back every morning. 

"Wh - what?" Joe stammers out, shoving Patrick off him in a daze, and standing up from his seat. 

Patrick falls to the floor ungracefully, but he can't even bring himself to be mad about it. He's too distracted by his terrible situation, and the fact that now it's his _arm_ that's painfully broken. It fucking figures. 

When Patrick says nothing, Joe continues, "Where the fuck did you come from?" Pausing, he adds perplexedly, "And where'd that bird go? Did I drop him?" Concern fills Joe's face at the thought, but meanwhile on the floor, Patrick is simply astounded at Joe's inability to put two and two together. 

"Yeah, you fucking dropped me," he says bitterly, pulling himself up and using the table as leverage. "Hurts like a bitch. Thanks."

Joe continues to gape at Patrick, blurting out, "What? What the hell is going on?" 

Patrick decides it's not worth lying at this point, because any false explanation he can give for this is going to be even worse than the truth. "I was the bird," he admits faintly, training his eyes on the floor so he doesn't have to see Joe's reaction. 

"You were _what_?" Joe asks, his sharp tone making Patrick wince. 

"I was the bird," Patrick repeats reluctantly, gaze still glued to Joe's shiny mahogany flooring. He gives up and gives his whole explanation, figuring he has nothing left to lose. "I got cursed a while back. Every night from sunset to sunrise, I turn into a bird. I didn't _mean_ to crash on your balcony. Or to break a wing. Which, uh, I think now my arm is broken. So that's fucking great. Earlier I was...I was trying to get out, but...it didn't work very well."

He slowly raises his head to try and judge Joe's reaction. Joe's eyes are wide, his face screwed up in concentration. He isn't saying anything. 

Patrick is about to die of anxiety waiting for a response, any response at all, until Joe finally says, "That...that was you...the whole time?"

"Yeah," Patrick answers, nodding shakily. 

Joe seems to process this for a moment, then he blurts out, "Oh god, I told you I was into you!"

Patrick blinks once, then snorts, his mood changing entirely. "That's really what you got out of that? I just told you I'm cursed and I spend half my life as a fucking bird and all you get out of it is _that_?"

"I didn't realize it was you!" Joe laments, completely ignoring Patrick's words in favor of continuing to complain about his own dilemma. "Fucking hell, now you're probably going to hate me forever and never talk to me again, which is _rather fucking inconvenient_."

Patrick can't stop laughter from ripping its way out of his throat as he forces out, "Are you serious right now? _You're_ the one who thinks _I'm_ not going to talk to _you_? I just told you I'm a fucking _bird_. And that's really not weird to you in the slightest?"

Joe frowns, considering this, then finally replying, "Yeah, okay, I get that, except your thing is kinda cool and shit, and my thing is just...uh, embarrassing and shit."

Patrick raises an eyebrow. "My thing is _cool_?"

"Yeah!" Joe says, nodding enthusiastically. "Like, that must be awesome! How cool is it to be a bird? Fucking great, I'd guess. You probably do cool shit all the time, like fly and-"

"I can't fly, Joe."

Joe looks surprised. "You can't?"

Patrick shakes his head pitifully. "How do you think I ended up on your balcony like that? I was trying, but obviously it didn't end well."

"Oh. Huh." Joe shrugs. "Slightly less cool." He adds quickly, "But still cool! Still cool."

"I don't think your thing's embarrassing," Patrick tells him honestly, relief from Joe not freaking out over the whole bird thing giving him the strength to tell the truth about this. 

"Huh?" Joe looks puzzled, obviously unsure as to why Patrick would say that. Patrick supposes it's his duty to set the record straight. 

"Yeah, it's really not," he says, giving Joe what he hopes is an encouraging smile as he confesses, "Because I'm kind of into you too?"

"Oh, thank fuck!" Joe exclaims, breaking into a mad grin the second he hears the words. "That is _such_ a relief! I was so - oh, holy shit, this is fucking great. Like, man, I-" He laughs, shaking his head wildly. "I'm so hyped up on adrenaline and chocolate muffin and confusion right now but, like, can I kiss you? Is that cool? I don't know, are we still talking about the bird thing? Or is that okay? Like, I don't know what-"

"Joe," Patrick interrupts firmly. 

Joe freezes, his expression an odd blend of worried and inquisitive. "Yes...?"

"That's _fine_ ," Patrick says, a gentle smile working its way onto his face. 

"Oh, _great_ ," Joe breathes out, relieved, and without a second of hesitation, he grabs Patrick by the shirt and pulls him in quickly. 

Patrick would be _really_ enjoying this if he wasn't suddenly in a _lot_ of pain. 

"Joe!" he gasps out, backing away and wincing. 

"What? What's wrong? I'm sorry, I-" Joe starts, eyes wide and fearful as he watches Patrick cringe in pain. 

"Joe."

"Yeah...?"

"My arm is still fucking broken."

**Author's Note:**

> as usual send me hcs or prompts 4 this verse and I'll love u 5ever (my Tumblr is vicesandvelociraptors)
> 
> I'm tired. 
> 
> Thanks for reading


End file.
